


Transition

by wargoddess



Series: A Family Affair [7]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mercy Killing, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: Family is hard. And neither Dante nor Vergil has any patience for weakness.





	Transition

**Author's Note:**

> No sex, for once! Just... positioning, I think.

     It had not been a conscious decision, to leave.  Vergil simply found himself settling matters in his mundane life -- arranging for a management company to look after his condo and the Maserati that he never drove, arranging for papers signing over ownership of his import business to be delivered to the very capable assistant director who'd been running it all this time.  All the routine, humanish tasks that he found so oddly soothing; he did whatever was necessary to end them.  And he understood precisely what this behavior meant, once he noticed it.  Commitment was not in a demon's nature, freakish exceptions like Sparda aside.  (And look how that had turned out.)  Vergil had felt himself growing complacent of late.  Developing... weaknesses.  It was time to go.

     He took care not to vary his routine with Dante or Nero.  He visited them when the whim took him, for sparring matches or to vent other physical needs, and genuinely enjoyed the activity.  There were aspects of this life whose loss he might regret, a little.  Nero, who was far too human for his own good, remained oblivious, of course.  Even on the night that Vergil had decided would be their last time together, as he made certain to leave Nero with a memory of his claws that would linger, and licked away the sweet, bitter salt of the boy's tears as his reward, it was clear that Nero expected nothing other than that Vergil would be there for him, the next time.  That there _would be_ a next time.  That sort of certainty seemed to comfort humans, so Vergil allowed him the misconception, for now.

     Dante, naturally, figured it out almost immediately.  This did not trouble Vergil, because he'd expected it.  He was prepared for the usual histrionics from his younger brother.  Shouting.  Appeals to sentiment.  Perhaps Dante would even go so far as to try and fight Vergil, in the misguided belief that he could somehow _force_ Vergil to stay.  That, at least, would be good.  Familiar.  They had not fought in earnest since Nero's inane declaration that they would act like a family.  Better to resume the old ways of doing things, Vergil decided, which had at least kept them strong.  And after all, when they had had nothing else of each other, there had always been battle.

     He felt Dante's anger growing over several days, building in layers and pressure until Vergil began laying bets with himself on when it would break.  (It would be beautiful, too, when it did.  Dante was always so beautiful, in his fury.)  It would happen, he suspected, during what Vergil had decided was to be their last sparring match.  Nero was a truly challenging opponent these days, and between him and Vergil, there would be no room for any of Dante's obfuscating laziness or performative foolishness in the heat of battle.  They would see his true face then.  Violence had always been their clearest, and most satisfying, way to communicate.

     He had expected Dante's rage.  He had _not_ expected Dante to come very, very close to cutting Nero's head off.

     It happened out of nowhere.  A flurry of strikes, a flicker of inhuman form.  Vergil narrowly ducked a grab from one of Nero's spectral arms, lunged backward when the Dante cut the air where his chest had been -- and then he stared, his perception slowed by adrenaline, as Dante called in a second sword from etherspace.  Alastor, Vergil thought it was, another ugly longsword, Dante had no taste for art or elegance... but it did not matter.  Because he was behind Nero after their exchange, and the two swords had crossed, and _Nero's neck_ was at the juncture of their edges.  Nero was focused on Vergil, his body coiled in mid-leap -- and too late, Vergil saw his eyes widen as he realized the danger.  He began to react, but he wouldn't make it.  Even Vergil could have done nothing, in the interminable half-nanosecond that remained.  The swords were already sparking, white-hot with the blurring speed and friction necessary to kill a demon.  Nero could not grow his head back, especially if the heat of the swords cauterized his neck in the process.

     And the whole while, as the swords closed in on his son's life, Dante's eyes -- far colder than his blades -- remained locked on Vergil's.  Making sure that Vergil saw.

     Then he twitched both blades away, and Nero's wings reflexively slapped him back, and all three of them settled to the ground, panting.

     Predictably, Nero was on his feet in the next instant.  "What the fuck was that?"  He slapped at his neck.  Vergil could see two crescents of sliced flesh on either side of his neck, stopping just short of the more vital tendons.  Already healing, but a bloody warning nevertheless.  "Since when do you almost cut my fucking head off during a _sparring match_?"

     "Whoops," said Dante, laughing easily as he got to his feet and sent the Alastor off into elsewhere.  "Sorry, kid.  I guess I just got a little too into it." 

     "Too into it?"  Nero was not stupid, and the bald-faced lie that Dante had just told would've strained credibility at the best of times.  Still, Vergil knew that Nero trusted Dante.  For him, Dante had been mentor, jester, and protector, and the boy was still young enough to believe that these were Dante's only faces.

     Vergil, however, straightened, keeping the Yamato point-down but not sheathing it.

     "Yeah."  Dante sighed then, vanishing the Dante too and raising his empty hands in mock surrender.  This turned into a stretch with his arms above his head.  His joints popped loudly, which Vergil thought was impressive acting given that he'd spent the past hour pushing his body close to its limit.  "Shit.  I'm sorry again, kid -- truly.  But I've got something on my mind, and I guess that's what's making it hard for me to concentrate.  Mind clearing out so I can talk it over with your old man?"

     That would be enough, Vergil knew.  Nero narrowed his eyes at once, his suspicious gaze shifting from Dante to Vergil.  He  would know, now, that _something_ was going on.  Vergil did not bother to pretend otherwise, or to enlighten him.  He kept his attention on Dante.

     Nero shook his head in open disbelief.  " _Talk_ ," he said to Dante.

     "Talk."  Dante inclined his head, with a hint of seriousness.  "Promise."

     Nero examined Vergil.  He didn't bother to ask whether Vergil would keep matters non-violent; the naked Yamato was pronouncement enough.  But Dante's promise was apparently enough for Nero on its own.  (So _foolishly_ trusting.)  After a moment, Nero sighed, shimmered into his other form, and leapt away into the sky with a single sweep of his wings.

     Vergil kept his attention on Dante, who laughed and turned away, putting his hands on his hips to watch Nero's glowing form dwindle into the distance.  "Never going to get over that.  Kid like that, with such a good heart, coming from _you_.  Must've gotten it from his mother."

     "In what way," Vergil said, slowly, "has Nero offended you?"

     "He couldn't offend me if he tried."  Dante turned back to him, and Vergil marveled again that Nero never seemed to notice the cruelty in that lazy smile.  "You, on the other hand..."  He shrugged.

     Vergil inclined his head.  "You're upset that I've decided to leave."

     "Oh, 'upset' would imply that I hadn't expected it, and that would be a lie.  You're nothing, big brother, if not predictable in this.  I can always count on you to stab me through the heart."

     Vergil's hand tightened a little on the Yamato's hilt.  "Predictable."

     "Yeah.  Predictable."  Dante sighed, beginning to pace.  He looked relaxed.  He probably _was_ relaxed.  Dante did not telegraph his kills.  "For a while I thought otherwise, don't get me wrong.  Nero's a new element.  I thought, maybe, just this once, he would be enough to break the old cycle.  I _hoped_."  He shook his head, smile hardening.  "Stupid me.  Expecting you to actually change."

     Here were elements of the argument that Vergil had expected.  "Dante," he said, gently chiding.  "Nero knows nothing of the ways of demons.  You and I, however, understand how -- "

     "Yeah, whatever."  Dante stretched again, groaning in exasperation.  "Like you're doing this for some 'logical' reason, and not because it scares the shit out of you that you _like_ having a family."

     Vergil set his jaw.  _I fear nothing_ , he thought.  Pointless to say it, however.  Dante would simply call him a liar.  Better to state an obvious truth.  "I cannot afford weakness."

     "Uh-huh."  Infuriatingly, Dante rolled his eyes.  "Okay."

     Vergil took a deep breath and let it out, slowly.  "If you are angry with me, brother, then take it out on me.  You know I'll accept your challenge.  Nero does not deserve it."

     "No.  He doesn't.  Doesn't deserve you for a father either, though, so I guess we all have our little burdens in life."

     Vergil lifted the Yamato.  "Then, shall we?"

     He did not expect the look of contempt that Dante threw him.  "No.  What, you think I'm going to try and stop you, if you want to leave?  Go.  Try not to end up some demon lord's slave this time."

     There was a trap in this.  Dante's mind was a tangled knot at the best of times, but usually Vergil could tease some semblance of sense out of it.  He narrowed his eyes -- and then he saw the trap's bait.  "Nero," he said.  Disbelieving.

     "Must die," Dante finished, his voice soft and sad and utterly lethal.  He shrugged, then glanced over his shoulder at Vergil.  There was a smile on his lips, as always.  "Going to be a shame.  I had high hopes for the kid."  Then the smile was gone, quick as shadow, as if such an expression had never crossed Dante's face.  "But I will slay him with my own hands, brother, before I let him suffer the pain of your betrayal."

     Vergil searched his face.  "You can't kill him.  Nero is strong."  _My son is strong_.

     "Very strong.  But he doesn't have the will to kill me.  He _trusts_."  As he had during their sparring match just now, when he had simply believed that Dante would not hurt him.  Until Dante had.  "You know all about that, don't you?"

     The trap:  if Vergil left, Dante would murder his son.

     "You presume," Vergil said, more sharply than he intended until he got himself under control, "that Nero means enough to me for this threat to hold any meaning."

     Dante shrugged.  "I think you've begun to love him, yeah.  That's why you're leaving, right?"

     Vergil ground his teeth.  "I will admit to a certain _vanity_ concerning Nero, yes.  But don't think I'll allow you to -- "

     "And I think he loves you, too," Dante said, as if Vergil hadn't spoken.  He shook his head in sorrow.  "I worried that might happen.  Tried to warn him off as best I could.  'Don't get attached,' I said.  He's trying not to, I can tell, because love scares him, too.  But he needs us."  Dante shrugged.  "He'll figure it all out eventually, and it will make him stronger -- or it would.  If you were worthy of his love.  Since you aren't, your abandonment will destroy him.  I can't let that happen."

     _Love is meaningless_ , Vergil reminded himself.  Love was a human weapon, and Dante was human enough to feel it.  "And will _your_ betrayal not cause him pain?"

     "I would be merciful, Vergil.  He wouldn't even know what hit him."  And, horribly, Dante smiled again.  This was so much worse than the coldness he'd shown during the sparring match.  It was rueful and bitter and tight with pain, and also completely resigned.  "I'll make sure he dies still thinking that he has a family.  I love him, too, after all."

     He meant it.  He actually meant it.

     _I should go now_ , Vergil thought, staring into his brother's brutally compassionate gaze.  Dante had just proven all of Vergil's fears accurate.  This was weakness, and Vergil could not afford it.  He could not.  He should leave just to prove to Dante that he did not care.  Leave Nero to his fate.  The boy would either find the strength to kill his uncle, or...

     Or...

     "If you kill him," Vergil promised, in the grip of a fury too great to contain, "know that I will hunt you to the ends of the earth and underworld."

     Dante just snorted.  He wasn't even angry anymore, Vergil saw.  " _Predictable_.  Vengeance is easy, Verg.  Family is what's hard.  You've always run from the hard stuff."

     _Fuck you_ , Vergil thought, before clamping an iron band around his self-control.  Too much time listening to Nero's foul mouth.

     But he flipped the Yamato, and slid it back into its sheath as slowly as he could.  Five seconds.  Three.  Two.  One.  By the time the sword clacked home, Vergil's head was cool again.  Enough that he managed a slow nod that was stiffer than it should have been.  Still, a warrior acknowledged worthy opponents on the battlefield.  "Well, played, brother."

     Dante just kept looking at him for a long, pent moment, until Vergil's hand tightened on Yamato's hilt again.

     "Not a game, this time," he said at last, very softly.  "I mean it, Vergil.  That you could even consider doing this to him, to _us_ , after everything we've built this time around... You aren't worthy of him.  But you _can_ be."

     There was an unpleasant stir of... something, in Vergil.  He did not like it.  He fought it, but the words were suddenly on his lips, spilling forth even as he clenched his teeth.  Some things could not be controlled by mere will any more than pus disgorging itself from an old wound could be held back by command. 

     He bit out, "I don't."  Deep breath.  "Know how."

     "And what, you think I do?"  This time, Dante's laugh was easier, more real, as he spread his arms.  There was something in this that eased the tension in Vergil.  He tried to understand it and was confused to find himself _relieved_.  Why?  It had to be Dante's fault, somehow.  "Scares me, too, Verg.  Like nothing else ever has.  But I think we're just going to have to find a way to make this whole three-way thing work.  He doesn't deserve our _weakness_ in this."  When Vergil twitched, Dante shook his head in amusement.  "Hell.  _None_ of us deserve this.  So suck it up."

     Vergil drew himself up with careful dignity.  "It would seem I have little choice."

     "Nope.  Life's a bitch like that."  And then, as if they had not just fought a battle of wills with Nero's life on the line, Dante strolled over and stopped beside him, nudging Vergil's shoulder with his own.  "Join us for dinner tonight?"

     Vergil glared at him.  Dinner would be difficult.  Nero was angry with them both, and Dante would expect Vergil to at least attempt to soothe the boy.  He could not do that with the truth, that he'd considered abandoning them.  He would have to come up with some other explanation, and make Nero believe it.  It would be... challenging.

     Well.  One did grow stronger, through challenge.

     " _Not_ pizza," Vergil said in two voices, stepping away so that he could take his other form.  He curled his tail primly about himself, its sharp tip angled for a defensive strike should it be necessary.  "There are other foods in the world, Dante."

     Dante sighed, but flared into monstrousness himself, grinning through his thicket of needle-teeth.  "Ah, Vergil.  The sacrifices I make for you."

     Then he blurred away, and Vergil matched him pace for pace, racing all the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I feel sorry for Nero, stuck with these two crazy assholes. Then I just write more porn.


End file.
